Musings of a Waltz in 'A' Flat
by minerva2
Summary: Grissom reflects on his relationship with a CSI...review please!


The characters do not belong to me. No spoilers, I don't think. You want it? Ask. (queen_of_spades@email.com) Feedback is always nice. Thanks.  
  
  
  
Musings of a Waltz in 'A' Flat  
  
  
  
  
  
She turns to me sometimes  
And she asks me what I'm dreaming  
And I realize I must have gone  
A million miles away  
And I ask her how she knew  
To reach out for me at that moment  
And she smiles because it's understood  
There are no words to say  
It's all about soul  
It's all about knowing what someone is feeling  
The woman's got soul  
The power of love and the power of healing  
This life isn't fair  
It's gonna get dark  
It's gonna get cold  
You've got to get tough  
But that ain't enough  
It's all about soul  
  
- Billy Joel -  
  
  
  
  
I don't know how she does it. Honestly, I really don't. It's actually astounding how she can tolerate me the way she does. Not many women can. And it amazes me all the more seeing as how she was the only person in the world I could ever leave my heart hanging on a thread for.  
  
I mean, I know I how elusive I can be. And I also know it gets on everybody's nerves most of the time, but she has the patience for me. A patience I've rarely known. We connect well even though half the time we're on different wavelengths.  
  
And as different as we are, I can't help but trust her. I mean, whenever we go out for breakfast after shift, I sit there and worry the case into my coffee, she relaxes and thinks about how she's going to see her daughter in a few hours. She's outgoing, I'm an introvert. She's good with people, I clearly am not. I revive myself with classical music like Dvorak, Brahms, and Handel, she goes for rock like Billy Joel and Bruce Springsteen. I analyze too much most of the time, she takes things as it is. She knows how to loosen up and unwind, I'm tense every hour of every day. She's basically the exact opposite of me yet she never ceases to amaze me with her extensive knowledge of the works of Steinbeck, Camus, and Hawthorne, the reign of Marcus Aurelius Antonius, the atomic mass of Lithium, or the year Yul Brynner won the Academy Award for best actor. She's quite intimidating.  
  
In a dozen different ways, she contradicts herself also. She's simple and complex. She's a dangerous woman to cross, and yet she can be just as gentle. She's outgoing and open, but she knows when to be coy and mysterious. And she thinks I'M a confusing person. Wait till she meets herself.  
  
She's compatible with everyone, and everyone's compatible with her. I mean, Nick and Warrick look up to and admire her like hell. They always go to her for advice, and always are willing to do anything for her. Greg practically worships the ground she walks on. Doc Robbins does her favors all the time. Sara has her tacit respect, and values her opinion even though they're in disagreement a lot of the time. Brass tails her more than any other CSI. And even Ecklie doesn't dare stand in her way when she's on to something. And me? Well, I'm sitting here, thinking about her, aren't I?  
  
I guess I'm a bit protective of her. I despise it when suspects flirt with her which is not uncommon considering her clever charm. First they act all nonchalant and casual as if they didn't notice her, but after she says a few words, their barricades fall to the ground, and they're all over her in an undignified way. And she just stands up, leaving them to gawk at her as she walks away with a sly smile playing across her lips which one hundred percent makes them go nuts.  
  
And as much as I hate when she does that, she manages to get the truth out of them, and I can't argue with her. But I never say anything because I know she has better judgment than me when it comes to people and all that business, which is true given my past with women.  
  
And I'll admit, we almost did do something stupid one night. We were just feeling miserable. We worked so hard on a case about a mother who killed her little boy, and the mother walked because all the evidence was circumstantial. Technicality bull. And we knew the mother was the culprit. The way she looked. But we can't convict a person on circumstantial evidence, and obviously not on the expression on her face. But God, I wish we could for that one case. So anyway, we were worn out, and in emotional overload, and in a strange way, we were thinking of the same thing. One senseless night of irresponsibility, and placate our own personal loneliness.  
  
I dropped her off at her place, and she asked if I wanted to come in.  
  
"I don't know." I had replied.  
  
She laughed lightly. "Well, I'll just leave the door open, and you do what you feel like doing."  
  
We both knew it was a mistake me being there. And she was the one who had the guts to say it.  
  
"Do you want me to stay...or should I go?" I said softly, standing by the doorway.  
  
She took a long stare into my eyes for a moment, I swear she was reading me like a book. "I want you to stay," she answered clearly. Then softly, "So, you better go."  
  
I nodded slowly, and left. It was the right thing to do.  
  
She's the one person I confide in. I trust her more than I trust myself most of the time. She listens to me. She understands me. She knows that under the surface, I'm inwardly tormented with every case I take up. I just can't show it because I'd fall apart. So I raise my indifferent mask of disguise and hide behind my beetles, spiders, plants, all that. She knows. I never told her but she knows.  
  
"Hey, Warrick?"  
  
"I don't know where she is." He said without looking up from a report he was reading in the lounge.  
  
I looked at him blankly.  
  
"I think she's on the roof." My protege continued, still not looking up.  
  
"What makes you think I'm looking for her? All I said was 'Hey, Warrick'."  
  
"Empirical evidence, Grissom." He replied, tossing the folder aside, and leaning back lazily in his chair, his arms folded neatly behind his head. "First thing you taught me at CSI. Don't touch, don't do anything, just observe."  
  
I waited for him to continue.  
  
"Well, I did just that. I mean, the office is out of balance in a way that can only be described as wacky. She just bumped into me in the hall, cursing and seething with rage. You come in here looking remorseful and disoriented to a point in which you're at a complete loss of thought. Well, who else would you be looking for right now? If you're not looking for her, I'm going to be demanding why 'cause you should be."  
  
"Why is she on the roof?"  
  
"She goes up there to think."  
  
"She does?"  
  
"You better get going, Grissom. The more you wait, the more angry she's gonna be when you apologize."  
  
"How do you know I'm the one who's apologizing?"  
  
"Never argue with women. They're always right even if they're wrong." He shook his head, smiling.  
  
"Thanks, Warrick." I mumbled quickly as I left.  
  
She was sitting on the roof of CSI, a book held up, reading in the bright streetlight. She didn't notice me. Or she did know without having to look. She senses things. The pale glow created a spotlight on her, changing her form into various blurry shadows.  
  
"What are you reading?" I said softly as I made my way toward her.  
  
" 'Crime and Punishment'," She answered shortly without looking up.  
  
"You like Dostoyevsky?"  
  
"My favorite."  
  
"I always thought the excitement of reading a book was not knowing what was going to happen next."  
  
"No. The excitement of reading a book a million times is knowing that each time you take something more from it."  
  
It was silent for a moment. The cars roared by down the street. The paper crackled as she flipped the page.  
  
"I was thinking - " I started.  
  
"So, what else is new?"  
  
" 'Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.' "  
  
"No time to be quoting Congreve, Grissom."  
  
Never ceases to amaze me.  
  
"I'm - "  
  
"You're forgiven." She replied, anticipating my apology.  
  
I stared at her in awe. She looked up at me from the corner of her eyes, and smiled slightly.  
  
"Are we okay?"  
  
She met my gaze. Her eyes were deep, intense, but sensitive. "We're always okay."  
  
I walked closer, and sat down beside her on the concrete roof. I asked her about the case she had. I watched her as she spoke. Serious eyes. Annunciated words. Something so strong in her.  
  
She was more than just a coworker, a friend. She was my reality check, my safety net, my confidant. Nobody else's opinion about me matters as much as hers. She's the one who tells me the truth when I want to hear it least. Not most. Least. It's when a friend tells you the truth when you want to hear it least that shows you how much of a friend they are. I don't know what I would do if I lost her, God forbid. I know I can't find a better person than her. And I don't want to.  
  
"So, what's your favorite author?" She asked me.  
  
"Ellison."  
  
" 'Invisible Man', huh?"  
  
I smiled.  
  
Never ceases to amaze.  
  
  
  
  
[END] 


End file.
